"Well then, Falco,” Astolfo said, “it is time for a hasty lesson in the hues of shadows.” He signed to Mutano to draw the curtains of the tall library windows so that we were left in a dimness close to dark. Then he went to a small oil lamp sitting upon the smaller table, lit the wick with a single striking of flint, and set a concave, brightly polished mirror behind the lamp. He motioned me to step close to the table and when I did he laid flat upon it a blank sheet of snowy paper.
"How many kinds of primary light have we in the room?” he asked.
"Two,” I replied. “A strong white one from the mirrored lamp and a duller, softer one that seeps through the linen curtains."
"Very well. Now observe the shadow upon this paper. What do you see?” He took up a small dagger from the tabletop, customarily kept there to break the seals of documents, and stood it perpendicular to the surface with his fingertip.
"I see two shadows. The one produced by the lamp is bluish; the other, a dusty yellow, comes from the window light."
"That is what you believe you see,” Astolfo said. He signed to Mutano to draw the heavy satin drapes over the curtains. “What do you see now?"
"The blue shadow made by the lamp glare has turned black."
"And the edges?"
"They were a little indistinct before. Now they are sharp."
He nodded and Mutano opened the drapes. Astolfo doused the mirrored lamp.
"The dagger shadow now?"
"It is a thin, gray wash, dim. A common shadow, I should call it."
"There are no common shadows—you have been taught this lesson many times. The lamplight and the curtained light are complementary and result in a falsity of vision. Your eyes deceive you because of this commixture of lights. When you are at your business in the palace of the countess, there will be two kinds of light. The early light of the east will commingle with the retreating darkness of the rest of the sky, a dark gray tending to mauve. The shadow you wear must be of a complementary color that will not be invisible to sight—that is not possible—but only deceptive to it."
"What color, then?"
"I put it to you."
"I can do no better than the evidence of my senses, deceived though they may be,” I said. “This mild blue is complementary, is it not?"
"It is one of the complementaries, but do not forget that as the hour wears, the light will change in intensity and hue."
"So then—?"
"We shall have a parti-colored shade of several tints,” Astolfo said. “They shall flow in and out of one another like the shades in a rainbow where a waterfall pours into the pool of a forest stream. In this wise, you may go from place to place and seem to be only a part of the natural changes of morning."
It did not sound plausible. “But will not so many colors present a garish, anomalous sight in a peaceful dawning?"
"Do you trust already the depth of your knowledge in this lore?"
"I suppose I must not. From what personage did you gain this shadow of many colors?"
"From the renowned actor Ortinio. A man who has portrayed many characters with true and convincing manner will have a various and variable shadow. But this particular shadow lacketh strong texture. It is a consequence of the actors’ trade that they have but pallid personalities themselves and must rely upon the playwright to supply them with character. The shadow must be supported by an undergarment. You shall wear a many-colored tunic of several light fabrics to help to sustain the delusion. The correct stratagem with colored shadows is to cause men to see what they already believe they see."
"Very well. How am I to enter the grounds of the palace?"
He laid down the dagger, took up a stick of sharpened charcoal, and began sketching a series of boxes upon the paper. “Here is a rough plan of the palace and the grounds. How shall you proceed? Where do you think you should try entrance?"
"That depends upon where the stone is kept,” I said. “Best to come as close as possible to that place unless it be heavily guarded and most closely watched. If it be so, then better to enter at a more distant point and make way to it by degrees."
Mutano and Astolfo traded gazes, nodding in agreement.
"And where will the diamond lie?” Astolfo asked.
"I cannot say. I think the countess would want it close by her, but now she has begun to mistrust her faculties. Perhaps she entrusts to Chrobius or another counselor for its safety. Perhaps it is in a separate room by itself under armed guard."
"Will you then steal into three places at once?"
"Time is lacking. On three succeeding nights I might do so, but the choice to begin with is easy. I would try the room set apart for it is where I would have less chance of being recognized."
Again the pair nodded agreement.
"Can you find this place on our little map?” Astolfo pushed the paper toward me.
His sketch showed a long north-south rectangle with the large palace building against the east wall, flanked on both sides by a dozen adjoining boxes. In the middle of the whole he had drawn a box divided into two and this I took to be an armory and barracks for the guards. He had not drawn entrances there, but I supposed it to have four, faced in opposite directions.
"Here.” I touched the third box on the left of the main palace. “I can go over the wall, onto the roof, and then along to the left."
"Well enough,” he said. “I believe that to be a sort of dormitory for the bachelor courtiers. I picture them sleeping in their cots, giving off wine-fumy snores, as you tiptoe cat-like above them. Only look below when you come to the corner and begin your descent, to make certain that guards are not hiding out of sight in the several doorways to lay hands upon you."
"I shall be wary."
* * * *
But his warning was a prediction.
The night passed slowly and as soon as I had made my cautious, finger-straining descent of the terra-cotta drainpipe and the corner of the building, eight burly guardsmen appeared as if summoned by a silent bell. Beyond them a group of twenty or so stood in close order in the great courtyard. Six of the eight ringed me with drawn blades while a seventh sprang to pin my arms behind my back. The eighth, a villainous, scar-faced captain every bit as large as Mutano, searched me over efficiently, tossing away my short sword and dagger and fishing from my boot the favorite little dirk I had thought so cleverly hidden.
"Your name?” he asked in a voice that was accustomed to transmuting the blood of new recruits to cold cat piss.
"Tombolo,” I said, naming the neighbor farm boy who had tormented my earliest years with bullying.
"Doubtful,” he grunted. “Your occupation?"
"Thief,” I said.
"Even more doubtful,” he growled and his ugly brothers-in-arms seconded his statement with derisive giggles.
"How came you here?"
"I say no more. Do your worst."
"So we may—and without your permission. But please, I entreat you, answer one thing more. Why do you come clothed in this ridiculous, gaudy motley? A man, be he thief or sea cook, will be seen in it seven leagues off."
I looked down at myself and was astonished. No subtle shadow of slowly shifting tints and flamy shapes enwrapped my shoulders, torso, and arms. Instead, I wore a filmy, light mantle or robe of ungainly cut all pieced together of vivid ribbons, with colors of lime, scarlet, azure, emerald, ember-gray, and inky purple. Now that I saw it I could feel its weight upon me, slight but palpable.
"See his face,” crowed my chief captor. “His mouth hangs slack like a gate unhinged. Is he not the very paragon of ijjits? Should not the countess take him just as he stands for her court jester?—But hold. He is too tall for the office of jester. We must subtract an ell or so.” He drew his sword and came close. “Where shall we lessen you, Sir Fool? Shall we take from the bottom?” He thwacked me across the knees with the flat of his blade. “From the top?” He scratched a filthy thumbnail across the knob of my throat. “Or from the middle?” He traced the sword tip acros
s my chest, tearing open the flimsy contraption of ribbons.
All his smug japeries brought forth unbounded hilarity from his whiskery, overfed troop, and I vowed that if ever I enlisted in a guard troop, I would choose one whose leader did not fancy himself a humorist. But at this moment I was so abashed by my capture and, more, by my ribbony motley, that I could form no response but to repeat my former challenge: “Do your worst."
"Our worst?” he said and laughed a gravelly long minute. “Sir Fool, you would not beg for the worst if you could conceive what it might be."
A voice, cheerful, familiar, mild but incisive, came from behind the ring of soldiers: “The worst is mine."
With this sentence, the troop parted ranks and Astolfo came ambling toward me. He was dressed in his military best, a sea-colored caftan belted with a broad sash of cloth-of-gold, a short-sleeved red cloak, a tall, broad-brimmed hat with a white plume. A sword hung from his left shoulder in a brightly jeweled sheath and he bore a tall lance in his left hand. He came directly to me and said again, “The worst is mine,” and with that he balled his right hand and delivered me such a blow to the neck that I fell backward on the ground and the dawning sky, the roof of the building, and the faces of Astolfo and the soldiers twirled ‘round in my sight like fern leaves circling the mouth of a drain.
I tried to speak, but the blow to my neck, just there at the base of my throat, had made words impossible. I could not cough or croak and heaved for breath like a fresh-landed carp.
"Stand him up,” Astolfo commanded, and when the captain gestured, two obscenely grinning troopers jerked me to my feet. If they had not gripped me on both sides by elbow and shoulder, I surely would have toppled again.
Astolfo strode round in a circle, striking the ground with the butt of his steel-tipped lance and seeming to be in deep and furious thought. Finally he halted and addressed the guards at large:
"Gentlemen! Behold the spectacle that treacherous ingratitude and sneaking rebellion may make of a man. This Falco, when I first took him into my employ, was but an unlettered, unmannered peasant boy still aromatic from dunging the stony fields of his father. Like many another of elder years, I trusted his innocence and gave him a berth in my household and a place at my table. His only duties were to better himself with study and to perform some light labors under the guidance of my faithful manservant."
He ground the lance butt into the dust and paused. “But see him now. He has wantonly entered your palace compound, intent on I know not how many villainies. He came armed and that is always a proof of evil purpose. He has clothed himself in this tatterdemalion ragtaggery for no reason I can put name to. This outfit belonged to my young sister who wore it to Midsummer Eve festivals when she was a child of twelve years or so. Perhaps he thought ‘twould serve to excuse him as a madman if captured rather than the perfect natural he proves to be."
The soldiers laughed with hearty appreciation and Astolfo came to stand before me again. “It was a happy accident that led me to discover, by means of certain papers I found in his quarters, that he planned to come here tonight and steal what valuables he could lay hands on. Then he would hide them away in my house and one night before the last quarter of the moon he would slit my throat as I lay sleeping, ransack my meager belongings, and join with the infamous pirate Morbruzzo to plunder all the city of Tardocco, murdering and burning."
He lifted the butt of the lance and thrust it heavily into my belly. My knees went water; my gut surged with pain. “As soon as I found these darksome, infernal papers, I hurried here to warn your good minister Chrobius of Falco's miscreant plans. That is why you were all turned out for the successful capture. The countess will be pleased with your dutiful performance."
He turned his back upon me and lifted his voice which, though still mild in tone, carried with powerful strength. “Look upon him and ‘ware you,” he declaimed. “See what the low taverns and fleshpots of the town have wrought upon a young lad too simple to withstand the easiest temptations, too weak to learn a skill, too cowardly in mind to take stock of his own character and come to proper discipline. Your wise Chrobius proposed that we hang him from the scaffold yonder at the far corner of the wall, but I have persuaded him that certain interrogations must first proceed, for we know not what other designs he hath formed nor which confederates might be leagued with him. We shall lead him back to my house, gentlemen, and put questions to him in such manner that he shall plead with tearful eyes and broken bones to be hanged with all dispatch. Your good captain has offered a detail of men to guard us homeward and I have gratefully accepted."
With this sentence two men fell into rank on either side of me while Astolfo and a shaggy corporal posted themselves before. Then we were off on a dolorously sluggish march out of the compound while the soldiers rattled their weapons in derision. Through the gates we went, over the road through the fields and into Tardocco. The pace became a little brisker yet was slow enough that early risers—the farmers carting produce to market, the night watch returning sleepily homeward, the ostlers and sweepers and blear-eyed, unsteady revelers in their rounds—had a good long view of the sorry spectacle of dejected Falco trudging through the streets in soiled and bedraggled motley.
When we reached Astolfo's mansion he unlocked the gate to the east garden and led us to the springhouse there under the great hemlock tree. Into that cold, dank space he booted me, wrapped a chain around door-slat and jamb, and secured it with a massive lock.
"There he'll cool his senses, gentlemen, and my manservant will come out shortly to keep guard over him. Meantime, let us go into the house and try what the larder might supply to break our fast. I seem to recall a platter of kidney pies and a small keg of new country oat ale."
They responded to this invitation with ready good cheer and marched off, Astolfo leading them while whistling a merry martial tune. I heard him say, as they departed, “I should not be surprised, gentlemen, if your generous count-ess and the sage Chrobius do not reward us royally for this morning's labor."
I sat down weakly on the stone ledge of the spring run, where jugs of fresh milk, oilskin packets of cheese and butter, and jars of wine were set to cool. As I was rubbing my tender belly and nursing my throbbing noggin, my eye fell upon a basket of woven willow in the corner by my left boot. I dragged it open to discover a pewter mug, a loaf of black bread, a knuckle of boiled beef, and some table cutlery.
I had understood, from the first moment of Astolfo's appearance, that my attempted burglary was but a staged mummery, a stratagem designed to force attention upon myself and away from some other occurrence, but I could not fathom what it might be. For the time being, I did not care. Despite my knocks and aches, I was perishingly hungry and fell upon the victuals like a gryphon tearing asunder an ox.
Afterwards, I took thought whether the rough damp stones of this springhouse might serve as a bed. I was much a-weary and though food had restored my spirits a little, my pains did not desist. The little players’ scene before the soldiery was but sham, yet Astolfo's blows had been sufficiently genuine.
* * * *
The stones made no easy pallet, but they must have afforded some portion of comfort, for I had to be awakened by Mutano's kicking my boot sole. When I opened my eyes I was startled; I knew the dumb man to be of goodly proportion but had become accustomed. Now that I looked up at him as I lay prone he seemed as tall and maybe as solid as an astrologer's tower.
I rose shakily and with much groaning and followed him through the full morning light into the kitchen of the great house. Astolfo was there, seated, according to his wont, on the large butcher block in the center. He swung his legs idly and hailed me as we entered:
"How now, brave Falco? How like you the life of the thief? Is't not a jolly existence, rife with surprise and unlooked-for reward? Have you already determined to follow its ways to riches—or to the gallows?"
If I showed ill temper, his gibing would only sharpen. “When I take up thievery,” I said, “I shall ma
ke certain that my colleagues are trustworthy and will not betray me at whim."
"Come, lad. Do you truly find me a whimsical man?"
"I must suppose that my embarrassment and painful blows were parts of a design you had in hand. I have no doubt you will name them the necessary parts."
"We had to convince a skeptical guard troop and the canny Chrobius,” he replied. “You may be assured that he was watching our playlet from a high window, trying to discover any trace of deception."
I rubbed my rueful ribs tenderly. “He shall have been convinced,” I asserted. “And I am curious to know what Mutano brought away with him while all eyes were feasting upon my own wretched plight. When did you cloak me in this stupid ribbon-dress? When I set out in the fore-dawn, methought I wore a shadow of subtle tints and colorations invisible in dawnlight."
"And so you did,” Astolfo explained. “This frock of giblets and flinders, which no sister of mine could ever wear, if ever I had a sister, served as undergarment to the shadow we cast over you at the last. But that shadow possessed some of its rainbow qualities because its genesis was in moisture. ‘Twas the shadow of the actor Ortinio standing in mist with the light bright behind him. As you went along, throwing off animal heat from your exertions, and as the morning grew warmer, this mist-shadow dissipated, leaving you all checkered in parti-colored motley."
"I hope you are content with the spectacle I made, for I think it could not have been completer."
"Let us see how content we are to be, for I am curious about the prize myself.” He signed to Mutano, who nodded and with a grave smile unlaced a white leather pouch from his belt, fingered open its mouth, and poured into his left palm four small stones. I recognized them as black opals, ominous gems of grim reputation. They are warranted to bring ill fortune to anyone who possesses them.
Astolfo counted them over: “Here is the sphericle; here the mandorla; here the small lozenge; here the larger cartouche.” He pointed out each shape as he went, then looked at Mutano. “It is the tiny arrow-leaf opal, then?"
FSF, October 2007 Page 7
